Antiseptic Stings, Doesn't It?
by Almyra
Summary: A look at how ObiWan and Padme began their friendship. Set just following Episode II.
1. Diagnosis

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Star Wars, Obi-Wan, or Padmé – no siree. It's all George's property – too much of a headache to handle anyway. I just splash about in my puddle of angst and Obi-oogling.

**AN: **In an interview with Star Wars Insider, Natalie Portman said in order for her to lend credence to her EpIII scenes with Ewan McGregor, it was necessary to create a backstory for Obi-Wan and Padmé and their friendship. They must be friends to a certain extent, she said, for Obi-Wan to feel comfortable coming to Padmé not once, but twice, during the course of ROTS. Also, in the novellization of the movie, it comes out that Obi-Wan is the only Jedi she really and truly trusts, even above Anakin. In movie context, I don't think they could have developed a _romance_ persay, but a good friendship is more than likely. Perhaps this is how it began…

Also, the line _'and the chalice from the palace has the brew that is true'_ comes from the Danny Kaye movie, _The Court Jester_. It just seemed to fit here. In our world, it comes from an old movie – perhaps on Naboo it is a children's nursery rhyme. One never knows.

Diagnosis

The smell was becoming a severe annoyance. Recycled air was constantly pumped into the makeshift medical facility, but the automatic scrubbers could not entirely erase the odor. She had noticed it first upon entry into the execution arena – after all, its floor was entirely made up of dusty sand – and now it was weighing heavily on her nauseated stomach. Old blood, that's what the tang of Geonosis reminded her of. Old, dried, crusty blood. No wonder she had thought it appropriate for the arena. She had thought to die there, albeit fighting.

Padmé Amidala Naberrie, senator of the sovereign planet of Naboo, sat stiffly in the hard, synthplast folding chair beside Anakin Skywalker's cot, her small hand folded inside his larger one. The fierce scratches from the nexu burned across her back, the pain gnawing at her consciousness and making movement difficult. Her entire body felt as though she had been thoroughly beaten by Hutt gangsters. She had initially refused attention, insisting that Anakin and the other badly wounded be treated first. Now, seemingly forgotten in the chaos, she sat beside the unconscious body of her recently realized lover, lost in the aftershock of battle.

The monitors hooked to Anakin's heart rate, blood pressure, and various other vitals blinked and chimed steadily at their prescribed intervals. While Padmé was grateful for this mechanical reassurance, she disliked seeing the tubing and patches attached to his body. She tried to avoid looking at the shiny cap covering the severed end of Anakin's right arm, but her eyes seemed drawn to it. What would he do, she wondered, when he woke and had to cope with a new, artificial arm? The Jedi padawan she had come to know over the past several days would chafe at his injury, she was certain, until he gained mastery over it. Padmé smiled tiredly. He had pursued other …interests with the same intense, single-minded focus he would give his new arm.

"Do you find something amusing, senator?" The sudden voice seemed loud in the small room, its clipped, Coruscanti accent making it brusque. Startled, Padmé jumped and immediately regretted doing so as her injuries throbbed anew in protest.

She turned in her chair to see Anakin's master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, coming slowly through the doorway. He had been injured by Dooku also, she knew, but truth be told, she had not paid him much heed in the transport ride back from the count's hanger. Now, with Anakin safe for the present, she noticed Obi-Wan looked as bruised and exhausted as she felt. His bedraggled reddish-brown hair was damp and curled limply against his collar. His beard needed combing - and a good trim, some fastidious corner of Padmé's mind noted dimly. He had not yet changed into a fresh tunic, and the original was missing one whole arm, which the medics had cut away to treat a wound. The dark grey patch on his muscular upper bicep marked the spot, its tiny green indicator light showing the sub-dermal tissue knitters at work. Padmé winced, seeing this. She had been treated with one of those once, at school when she punctured her hand with a stylus. The healing process hurt worse than the actual accident. At least the medics had given the Jedi a new pair of pants.

"Senator Amidala, are you well?" Obi-Wan limped to Anakin's other side, where he leaned heavily against the flimsy wall of the room and waited expectantly for her to reply. The young woman tore her gaze away from the knitter patch and met his steely grey-blue eyes.

"I beg your pardon, Master Kenobi," she said, "A fond memory."

He nodded and looked down at his unconscious padawan. His face softened slightly and adopted an expression of affectionate annoyance. "He's entirely too reckless for his own good," he murmured. Padmé could not help but agreeing with this assessment. She squeezed Anakin's hand gently.

"Senator, forgive my intrusion, but have you been treated for your own injuries?" Obi-Wan asked, his attention fully focused on her once more. Padmé wondered if he had seen her intimate gesture. No matter, she thought ruefully, both he _and_ Master Yoda had seen her fervently embrace the young man in Dooku's hanger, and her refusal to leave his side was hardly subtle behavior. Something odd gleamed in Obi-Wan's gaze, and Padmé felt her queasy stomach tighten further.

When she spoke, her voice was hoarse. "No," she said, "I am not badly injured, and there are others in far worse condition."

The Jedi Knight had already pushed himself away from the wall and was coming to her side of the cot when the young woman held up a hand and laughed. "I didn't realize you were a medic, Master Kenobi," she said as he reached her chair. For the first time since she had seen him in the arena, a smile split the usually stern visage. "Oh, I've become quite proficient at the basics," he responded. "That one," a nod toward the still figure on the bed, "keeps me in practice and then some."

"I'm sure he does," she said, smiling back at him, "but it isn't necessary to treat me, Master. I will see a medic before I retire."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "My dear senator," he said, "You are brave and beautiful, but you are only human. Please don't be stubborn, mi'lady, you have already gone too long without care." He must have recognized the abrupt set to Padmé's jaw, for his lips quirked beneath his beard. "Come, senator," he said soothingly, and then his aristocratic eyebrow rose just the tiniest bit. "My ever irrepressible padawan is resting comfortably, and I know he would insist you receive attention. The sooner you are taken care of, the sooner you can return to his side."

Padmé looked back at Anakin uncertainly, but she knew his master was right. Her back throbbed unmercifully, and the wounds were undoubtedly crusted with sand and dirt from her fall onto the dunes. With a sigh, she nodded. She placed Anakin's hand back upon the thin, white coverlet, resisted the urge to kiss him, and tried to rise.

"Oh, sweet Maker," she gasped, the pain and stiffness of her body rendering her immobile. "I'll thank you not to say 'I told you so'," she said, wincing.

"Never." he replied, but she could hear the quiet laughter in his cultured voice. "Allow me to assist you, mi'lady." The knight gently slid his hands beneath her elbows and provided gentle support. "That's it, take it slowly."

Padmé gradually straightened to her feet, biting her lip at one point to contain a whimper. "A tumble from a transport is no small feat," he continued as they both limped their way to the door. Padmé suddenly giggled. "A tumble from a transport," she said, "_'And the chalice from the palace has the brew that is true'_. A poet as well as a medic and a Jedi – Master Kenobi, you surprise me."

"A jack of all trades and master of none, some might say," Obi-Wan responded and palmed the door open.


	2. Treatment

**AN:** "too crusty to move" is a nod to Smitty's awesome Malastare Obi-Wan/Anakin stories. Read them – they're wonderful!

* * *

**Treatment**

The corridor was crowded with medics and droids hurrying to and fro on various errands. Some pushed grav-gurneys of wounded clone troopers, some hauled carts of medical supplies; some were alone. Obi-Wan collared one of these last and asked to be taken to the nearest empty treatment room. The senator expected an argument or at least some level of unwillingness, but the young medic went slightly glassy-eyed and repeated the knight's request almost word for word. Padmé gave the man beside her a suspicious look but said nothing as they were led down another tiny corridor and shown into a small, sterile room.

"Just relax," Ob-Wan said after he thanked the medic and the door swished closed. She did as she was told, although when her feet left the floor without warning, she cried out in amazement. "Ssssssh," he hushed, one hand raised. He settled her onto the examination table and gave an apologetic smile. "I did not wish to lift you physically," he said, "I have no desire to cause you any more pain than I must."

"Oh, wonderful," the young woman snorted, rolling her eyes. "May I remind you, Master Kenobi, that I am perfectly willing to leave this task to those most capable of performing it?"

"You may," he returned mildly, opening the rolling cabinet and pulling out several clear bottles and tubes and some bandaging material, "but I must remind _you_, senator," and here he paused to meet her gaze squarely, "you have spent the last several days in danger because of me. And, more importantly, you have seemingly emerged from the company of my padawan relatively unscathed, which is a tremendous accomplishment in itself." He moved stiffly to the makeshift tap and dispensed hot water into a wide bowl. "Such achievement places me deeply in your debt." Another almost smirk played at the corners of his mouth. "Besides," he said, coming to stand behind her, placing his supplies on the table. "I may not be as unqualified as you might think."

A shiver wound its way down Padmé's spine as fingers touched her back. They carefully brushed her wounds, and she made a small noise of discomfort, shifting slightly on the table. "Forgive me, mi'lady," the knight murmured, his breath soft heat against her skin. She suddenly became very aware of his proximity; of his nearness; the power of his presence. There came a soft tug on the torn edge of her form-fitting combat top, and a hiss escaped her clenched teeth. She had heard all Anakin cared to say about his master, which was a great deal, mostly complaint. Obi-Wan was too strict, Obi-Wan was too cautious, scared of his pupil's potential: stubborn, sour, dour, uptight, and even jealous – all in all, a rather unflattering picture. Yet here he was, this too crusty to move master, offering her kind solicitation as a way of honoring her courage. And he was every inch a knight, Padmé thought uncomfortably, remembering the strength in his arms and hands; the hard length of his side against hers. Very much a man, while Anakin was… what? _A petulant boy_, a voice whispered in her heart. A boy who is _becoming_ a man, she told it firmly, a man I _love_.

"Senator," Obi-Wan interrupted her inner argument. "I am very sorry, but I am afraid I will have to further destroy your top."

"Taking advantage of a helpless politician?" she responded archly, "Adding molestation to your list of trades, are you?"

He uttered a low, amused chuckle and there was a sharp jerk at the back of her shirt, along with the 'snick' of bandaging scissors. "My dear Amidala," he said, still chuckling, as he folded the cut sides away to leave her back bare, "I know better."

With this, Padmé relaxed. She heard him swish a cloth in the hot water. "Try to be as still as you can," he warned, placing a callused hand against her skin. "I will do my best to be gentle." Padmé gripped the table on either side of her legs and leaned forward slightly, tensing. The process was not pleasant and hurt a great deal, but Obi-Wan worked as quickly as he could, pausing only once to let Padmé rest and to replace the dirty, bloody water with fresh.

"That part is over," he said finally, taking the bowl to the small sink once more. "Hold on just a big longer; we're almost through." The young woman huffed out a short breath and wiped sweaty tendrils of her chestnut hair away from her face. Anakin's master dried his hands, his motions slow and deliberate, and returned to the table. When he took several antiseptic pads from their wrappers, Padmé swore, colorfully and rather viciously.

"My, my," Obi-Wan said wryly, "Where did we learn such language, senator? I find it difficult to believe the estimable leaders of the Republic stoop to such levels."

"You'd be surprised," she replied, steeling herself for the harsh sting of the chemicals. She could not refrain from gasping as the Jedi knight rapidly swabbed the scratches with the pads. Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes, and Obi-Wan must have sensed that the level of her pain had crossed the threshold of tolerance. "Ssssh, mi'lady," he said quietly, stroking the back of her neck with his fingertips, "Take slow, deep breaths. Let the pain flow through you – accept it on the inhale; release it with the exhale."

She did as he directed, finding the merciless throbbing did indeed fade to a dull ache as she centered herself. "Good," he commended, "Very good." He began cutting lengths of the waterproof bandaging. "You take instruction well." Silence fell for a few moments. Padmé felt tension creep back into the atmosphere, and her stomach knotted again.

"Senator Amidala," Obi-Wan said finally, "I am happy to have done you a service, in thanks for the service you have done me. I am also grateful for this chance to speak to you alone." He hesitated. "I must tell you that Anakin harbors very strong feelings towards your person. He has never forgotten the kindness you showed him those many years ago, and unfortunately, I believe he has developed a rather unhealthy fixation for you. Did he… did he express this to you in any way during your time together?"

_Calm, calm_, the young woman thought frantically, unsure of how much emotion the knight could sense. She schooled her features into the bland mask of her station and reached deep inside. She knew he would pick up on a lie – even if he had not been Jedi, Obi-Wan was very perceptive. Truth was her best defence – she would simply omit certain facts.

"He did," she said. Another beat of heavy silence. Obi-Wan said nothing, and Padmé could not see his face. "I told him it was folly – he is a Jedi padawan with a bright future and I am a senator – and there was no way for us to be together. I told him I valued his friendship and his protection, but he must not speak to me in that way again."

The knight still did not respond, choosing instead to apply a cooling bacta salve to her wounds. The senator bit her lip, her hands gripping the edge of the table slightly harder than necessary. Two arms, one bare and one clothed, passed around her waist, the white bandaging drawn after, snugged tight, and smoothed by nimble fingers.

"He took my refusal with reluctance," she continued, slightly unnerved by the ominous stillness in her companion, "but he has respected my wishes and maintained proper reserve while protecting me." _Which is true,_ she thought, _he **didn't** speak of his feelings again until **I** said something._

Obi-Wan sighed abruptly, shortly, softly. "Senator," he said finally, "Please understand I am not trying to pry into the privacy of either you or my padawan. I am, however, pleased to hear both of you reacted with maturity and sound judgment. In fact, I am very proud of Anakin for his rather uncharacteristically levelheaded acceptance of your rejection. You must have a good effect on him."

This time it was Padmé who did not reply. Anakin's master gathered up the supplies and returned them to the cabinet. "I very much believe we have begun a war here, Senator," he said, turning to face her and leaning awkwardly against the sink to rest his wounded leg. The young woman saw the dark smudges of exhaustion beneath his eyes. "In the light of such tragedy, friendships will be doubly important. I am glad my padawan has such a friend as you."

Padmé smiled and gingerly got down from the examining table. "And I am glad we both have a friend in you, Master Kenobi. I thank you for your kind ministrations. The soreness has doubled, but somehow I feel that is a good thing."

"It will pass," he returned, offering her his arm once again. "You should be none the worse for wear."

They passed out into the hall. "I do want you to know, Master Jedi," Padmé said soberly, "I will do my utmost to ensure this conflict does not escalate into full-scale war, and if it does, I will fight to make it a short one. On that you have my word."

"Senator Amidala," Obi-Wan said, his gaze piercing, "For all our sakes, I hope you are successful. I feel only grave doubts and unease regarding the future. We will most certainly see dark times before the dawn."


End file.
